Busby's Chair
by RetsuKoumorixXx
Summary: England finally gets America to sit on Busby's chair. And then he realises he doesn't want America to die. How will England save America? Just why is that birthday cake bright green? And will France ever put some bloody clothes on? Rated M for later ;3
1. Chapter 1

"For the love of God, France, put some bloody clothes on!"

"I would, _mon ami_, but you're wearing them!"

Oh bollocks, England had forgotten that. He gave up on chasing France around the room and sat in one of the few empty seats, next to Japan, in an attempt to hide the hideously garish outfit. Japan acknowledged him with a nod, then went back to reading something that looked suspiciously like a doujinshi under the table.

England chuckled to himself, then took a sideways glance across the table, to check that a certain traitor hadn't seen what he was wearing. America looked to be too engrossed in his hamburger to pay attention to anything else. That was a good thing, England thought. Not that he cared what that bastard thought of him.

Said bastard had now finished his hamburger, and was very loudly telling Germany and China, who were sitting either side of him, about how amazing his party had been yesterday. England flinched, and Japan looked up from his doujinshi. "Are you okay, England-san?" Japan asked, struggling with the English pronunciation as usual. England nodded, not wanting to open his mouth in case he said something stupid. Or screamed. Or threw up. Japan looked almost sympathetic, a rare show of emotion for the Asian man. "I apologise for allowing you to drink so much sake last night, England-san. I should have at least accompanied you home-"

"It's fine, Japan, really." England managed to say, having calmed down a little. "Is that Yaoi?" He asked, nodding towards the doujinshi in an attempt to change the subject. Japan nodded, blushing a little, and went back to reading it. England made a mental note to see if he could borrow it later. Even if he couldn't read it, he could always... enjoy the pictures. Anything to take his mind off of _that _day. _At least it's over now, _he thought, sighing. _A whole year until it happens again. Why the bloody hell does it affect me so much?_

"We will begin the conference now!"

England jumped a little. Germany's angry, loud German accent tended to have that effect on people. Japan had dropped his book, America had thrown something that looked like a milkshake halfway across the room, and, possibly the most amusing of all, France had fallen over in shock, mid-naked skip, with a cry of 'Mon dieu!'. England chuckled, along with a few of the other nations, but they all stopped when they saw the look on Germany's face.

Five minute's into Germany's speech, England's mind had already drifted elsewhere. He was staring at a patch of wall, his eyes unfocused, trying to remember how he had ended up in the conference room last night. He remembered the events of that morning pretty well.

_England had woken up on the floor of the conference room that morning with a pounding head, half-naked, with France looming over him. He had panicked, tried to scramble away, and ended up with a few shards of broken bottle embedded in his hand. Luckily, but also vaguely worryingly, France always carried a pair of tweezers with him, and there had been a first aid kit in the conference room. When he eventually managed to convince England that he hadn't done anything even vaguely pervy to him, for once, France had used these to remove the shards, clean the wounds (to the sound of England swearing loudly), and bandage them. Then he had proceeded to solve England's clothing problem in a way that was convenient to him, and disturbing to everyone else._

It had just occurred to England that it was suspicious that France had been there so early in the morning, when the conference wasn't until the afternoon, but thinking about it made him shudder involuntarily, so he went back to trying to remember the night before. He had left Japan's house at around 9pm, and he had found more alcohol from somewhere... he remembered staggering around a lot, and decided to assume that he had ended up in the conference room by coincidence, or maybe instinct reminding him that he needed to be there tomorrow. However, there was something else, floating at the edge of England's memory, something important...

_I was here... Chair? Something about a chair... switching chairs, America, what? Buzz... Busby's chair? No, seriously?_

England glanced at America, who seemed to be dozing off using a hamburger as a pillow, and sure enough, his chair was surrounded with that weird evil aura that seemed to only be noticeable if you knew it was there. Somewhat like Canada, England thought, wondering where he was. (Canada was, in fact, right beside him, dozing off like his brother, using Kumajiro as a pillow)

_Well, this is bloody brilliant! Hold on, why isn't he being dragged to hell yet? _England looked at the chair again, this time seeing the fault lines from all the times that fatass Russia had broken it. _Maybe that weakened the curse... Aah well, I'm sure it'll kill him eventually. _Somehow, he wasn't as happy about that as he should have been, but, he reassured himself, that was because of his hangover. Or something.

* * *

A few hours later, the conference finally ended. England thought it was a shame, he had been quite enjoying his nap. At least he was a lot less hungover now, and remembering his revelation about Busby's chair cheered him up a little. Only a little. He stood up and stretched, ignoring the disapproving look from Germany, who seemed to be quite annoyed, as usual, that the majority of the nations had fallen asleep during the conference. Even Italy had napped through Germany's speech, and he was practically in love with the German.

Once everyone had said their goodbyes, the room gradually began to empty. England hung back to keep an eye on America, who was talking at Russia, of all people, about his bloody birthday party. Once America seemed to have run out of things to shout about, Ivan was finally allowed to leave, giving England something that looked like a knowing grin on the way. England shuddered, and went to leave himself, but found his way blocked by a certain irritating(ly handsome, not that England would admit it) nation. England managed to change his guilty expression to a glare, and tried to walk around America, but found his way blocked by an arm. He sighed.

"What the bloody hell do you want?" England asked, half hoping that America would drop dead soon. He didn't acknowledge what the other half of him was hoping for.

"I was wondering if you wanted to come to mine for coffee, y'know, for old times sake?"

England stared at the grinning man incredulously, and was about to decline the offer, when he realised that it would give him more of a chance to see the effects of Busby's chair. "Only if I can have tea", he replied in what was supposed to be an irritated tone, and America chuckled.


	2. Chapter 2

England was trying very hard to ignore the various party-related items strewn around America's kitchen. This proved to be quite difficult, especially when the table was dominated by a massive, half-eaten, fluorescent green cake, and England kept having to lean around it to see if America was still alive. Sadly, he was, as he had been for the last half an hour, which they had mostly spent in an awkward silence.

England grimaced down at the tea he was being forced to drink out of a coffee mug. He couldn't work whether the mug was affecting the taste of the tea, or if it was just awful anyway. "Bloody American", he muttered under his breath, and jumped a little when America's head appeared from behind the stupidly massive cake.

"What did you say?"

"Uh- Nothing."

"Oh, okay then..." America looked at the cake, his eyebrows furrowed. "Are you sure you don't want any of thi-"

"Yes, I'm bloody well sure!"

"Alright, alright, keep your hair on old man!"

"Old- what?" England spluttered. America ignored him.

"I should probably move this, shouldn't I?"

"No, America, you shouldn't, it isn't in the way at all." England replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, okay then, I'll leave it-"

"I was being sarcastic, you stupid git!"

With England's help, the bright green monstrosity was eventually moved onto the floor, and England finally had a good view of America. America looked a little uptight, England could see now. He was looking anywhere but at England, and something about this irritated him. He coughed, and America jumped, staring straight at him. England realised that now he would have to think of something to say, and his eyes fell on the cake. "So... why the bloody hell is your birthday cake bright green?" England had assumed that this was a simple enough question, but America suddenly blushed bright red.

"I- uh- it's- um-"

"Bloody hell, are you alright?" A part of England hoped that the stuttering was the first sign of the curse taking effect. No such luck, though, America nodded and seemed to calm down when he realised England wasn't really expecting an answer.

After another ten minutes of awkwardness, England was starting to get irritated with the silence, even though it was quite interesting to watch America when he seemed to be thinking. The constant expression changes were quite amusing, and England had to suppress laughter a few times. He noticed that America's expressions seemed to be veering towards determined more often as time went on, until eventually the American managed to look at England, with a now-permanent determined expression. England looked at America expectantly, but it took a few minutes for America to actually say anything.

"England."

"Yes?" England said exasperatedly. America clearly hadn't noticed that England had been paying attention to him the whole time.

"Uhh... I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Yes?"

"Well, uhh... It's about the reason I decided to leave you. You know, on that day."

England barely suppressed a flinch. He noticed that America seemed to be blushing again, something that vaguely worried him. "And?", he barely managed to ask, concentrating more on ignoring the pain in his chest.

"Well, -"

England looked at America blankly, not having the faintest clue what the idiot had just said. "Say that again?" America just looked away, blushing even deeper now. Apparently, he didn't want to repeat it. It amused England to see the usually loud American acting like this. In fact, it was almost cute... It somewhat reminded England of when America was a child. He continued to stare at America, quite enjoying watching him squirm under his gaze.

Eventually, England decided it would be a good idea to try to calm America down. He looked around the kitchen, eyes skimming over the various streamers, deflated balloons and empty bottles. Picking up a bottle, he coughed to get America's attention again. The American flinched, and England waved the bottle. "You got any of these that aren't empty?"

* * *

"Bloody hell, I forgot about that!"

"Yeah, and then you took all your clothes off and-"

"Alright, alright, at least I never used to wet the bed!"

"At least I'm not dressed like a frog!"

England looked down at himself. Bollocks, he had forgotten he was still wearing France's uniform. America was laughing hysterically, and England noticed that the pile of empty bottles around the American had increased significantly. England himself hadn't drunk much, since he wanted to wake up tomorrow without a hangover for a change.

"Haha, maybe you should-haha-take it off!"

"I- what?"

"Take it off, it looks awful on you! You always looked better naked!"

England spluttered, then stared at America in shock, his mouth hanging open slightly.

"Close your mouth, Iggy, or I might have to stick my-"

"Alright, you've had enough to drink!"

England stood up and walked round to remove the few bottles that weren't empty from America's side of the table. He couldn't quite believe how much of a pervert America became when he was drunk. _I can't blame him though,_ he thought, _he's learnt from my example... _England was crossing back to his side of the table, distracted by a sudden flashback, when his foot caught on something, and he began to fall. _Bollocks, the bloody cake!_

Luckily, England's fall was cushioned by said cake. Unluckily, he was now covered in fluorescent green icing. And America was giggling hysterically. England crawled away from the cake and sat up, glaring at America in time to see the bloody American falling off his chair, still giggling. England rolled his eyes and waited for the bastard to calm down.

America eventually managed to sit up, wiping tears from his eyes and grinning stupidly. "Now you'll definitely have to take that uniform off!" He cried gleefully, his eyes roaming over England's cake-covered body. England tried not to say anything, his eye twitching from the effort.

"Take it off! Take it off! Take it-"

"Shut up, America!"

"Pwease?" America was staring at England with what could only be described as puppy-dog eyes. _Bloody hell, he looks cute... Wait, what? _England grimaced. America continued to stare at him. England began to get irritated with himself, and wished that America would change his expression. He didn't. England looked at the squished cake on the floor between them, then back at America.

"Pwease take the uniform off, England, I-" America suddenly found himself with a mouthful of cake. England had picked up a chunk of it and thrown it at him, in an attempt to stop the endearing expression that was dangerously close to... making certain parts of him... react, in a way that would have been very awkward if America noticed. America just looked shocked now, and that made him look less cute. Only by a little, though. England sighed, wondering when America had gone from annoying to cute. Probably when England had started drinking, he reassured himself, deciding to ignore the fact that he hadn't had enough to become anything more than slightly tipsy.

England then realised that America's expression had changed again. A grin was spreading across his face, one that looked significantly evil. And England barely had time to register the American's arm moving towards the cake, when a large amount hit his face. He glared at America, and America glared back. Both their faces were caked with green icing. America snapped first, making a snorting noise which quickly developed into a laugh. And, for some reason, England joined in.

"Bwaha, England, you look like an alien!" They both saw Tony walk in, look mildly offended, then walk back out, muttering something that sounded like "I do not look like that fucking limey." This just made both of them laugh harder.

Eventually, they had both calmed down, breathing heavily and clutching their stomachs. America was lying on his side, and he stared up at England, grinning again.

"Hey, England."

"What?"

"Can I lick that icing off your face?"

England frowned at the still clearly drunk American. While the idea sounded oddly, irritatingly appealing, there was no way England would admit that. He decided to just glare, half-hoping that the wanker would just give up. He barely managed to ignore the image that calling America a wanker created in his mind.

"Pwease can I-"

"Don't start that again!"

"But-"

"No!"

America frowned for a moment. Then grinned evilly again. England stared at him warily, waiting for more cake to be thrown. Instead, something heavy flew at him, knocking him over and pinning him down. "What the bloody hell-" His eyes focused, and the first thing he saw was a pair of blue eyes, right above him, surrounded by a face that seemed to consist mainly of green icing. _Huh, his glasses must have fallen off when he-_England's thoughts stopped when America chuckled softly, his breath tickling England's face. _Shit, too close. _"Will you get the bloody hell off me?" England tried to move, but he had forgotten quite how strong America was. He could feel himself blushing, and hoped to God that the icing on his face was hiding it. America chuckled again, that evil grin still plastered across his face, and England couldn't help but notice how close their bodies were, and- _Oh God, I need to stop thinking about it. Think about something else! _Luckily, England was able to conjure a vivid mental image of France skipping around naked. It was enough to calm him down, thankfully. That was, until America licked his cheek.

"Bloody hell! What the fuck do you think you're doing?" America didn't reply. He just proceeded to lick more icing off of England's cheek, making the Brit gasp involuntarily, then struggle to get away again. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy it, it was just that he didn't want America to think he was enjoying it.

_But why?_ A small voice at the back of his mind asked. _Are you going to give up on what you've wanted for years because you're too proud to admit that you- _"Shut up!" England cried. America stopped licking and stared at him, and England realised that he had said it out loud.

"I didn't say anything."

"No, I- Never mind." England couldn't be bothered to protest when America carried on licking the icing off his face. He knew that there was no way of stopping the American, and- _Who are you kidding? You're not even _trying _to stop him!_ The voice in the back of his head had an almost teasing tone now. _You're enjoying it and you don't want him to stop, because you- SHUT UP -love him! _England closed his eyes, thoroughly pissed off. _Of course I bloody love him, there's no __point in lying to myself now, but I can't let him know that, because- because- _England suddenly found it difficult to think, because America had shifted slightly to lick his other cheek, and there was now something hard pressing against his thigh that definitely didn't belong to the Brit.

England tried his hardest to cling to his reasons, but they all evaporated and he couldn't remember why he was resisting, he just knew that he needed to. Then he tried to stop himself from reacting by thinking of naked-France again, but France morphed into the exact person England was trying not to think about. That had the complete opposite effect to the one England had wanted. He prayed that America wouldn't notice. Luckily, America seemed to be too engrossed in licking England to pay attention to much else.

"America." The American carried on licking; England noticed that the more he did so, the better it felt, but he had a feeling that America was getting more pleasure out of it than he was. "America!" England was ignored again. "Fuckit" He grumbled to himself, waiting for a pause in the licking.

The pause came sooner than expected. America stopped for a moment, panting slightly, giving England a chance to move his head slightly... _Just to stop him, that's all I'm doing_, he reassured himself, although he wasn't sure why he was bothering to make excuses any more. Then America, expecting to lick more icing off, found himself licking England's lips. He froze, his mouth a centimetre away from England's, clearly shocked out of whatever trance he had been in, with a blank expression. _Goddamnit, he even manages to be cute when he's being stupid! _England thought, and, almost by instinct, moved his head so that his lips were touching America's. Then he froze too. _Oh fuck, what the hell am I doing, I can't be doing this, he was probably just licking my face for the icing, he's so bloody addicted to sugar- _He tried to move away, but America began to react, devouring England's mouth, letting go of one of his arms to tangle his hand into the Brit's hair so that he couldn't move his head. England didn't particularly mind. This was what he had wanted all along.

England moved his now-free arm up, finding the small of America's back and stroking it, drawing a stifled moan from the American. This made England more aroused, to the point where it was painful being trapped inside his clothes. America had clearly noticed, and moved his hips against England's, drawing a moan from the both of them. The American untangled his hand from England's messy hair, now sure that the Brit wasn't going to move, and began to undo England's cape... _Wait, cape? Why the bloody hell am I wearing a- "_Oh bollocks!"

Within a few short seconds, everything came flooding back. England's reasons for being there in the first place. He had a sudden burst of strength and managed to roll a very shocked America off of him and sit up in one smooth motion. Then he stood up and, before America could stop him, hurried out of the kitchen, out of the front door, and into the street. America was too stunned to follow him. England didn't care that he was wearing a bloody stupid uniform, didn't care that he was covered in bright green icing. He just needed to get out of there, away from the man he loved. _Away from the man I've killed._


	3. Chapter 3

*gasp* A new chapter! I finally got the motivation to write this OTL

Also, I've gone back through and replaced the human names with country names, because it made more sense since this isn't an AU... (And I kept getting Arthur/Alfred mixed up .) I also made a few other small changes in the first two chapters, nothing hugely important.

* * *

America knelt on his kitchen floor, wondering what the heck had just happened. It had been perfect. Those few minutes, that could have lasted a lifetime for all America cared. He had actually been perfectly happy, for the first time since he had... no, he didn't want to think of that, didn't want to think of the pain he had caused _him._ _England. 'The United bloody Kingdom'._ And even now, having a small taste of being left, he couldn't imagine what England must have gone through. So much pain, so much sadness, enough to cause someone to drink to forget, to still be drinking to forget so many years later. Thinking of all this now made America nauseous, and it wasn't just because he was drunk.

Of course, he could see why England had left. Could understand perfectly that he deserved to have that moment, the moment he had been waiting for all these years, ripped away from him. That didn't stop it from hurting, as he looked around at the fluorescent green cake smeared all over the kitchen floor. At the spot where he had laid on top of England mere minutes ago. And he still couldn't believe that he had kissed him. He was sure it was him that had kissed England, not the other way round. England must have been drunk, caught in the moment. That was the only reason that he had reacted in that way... And they had been so close to... No, America wouldn't, couldn't think about it. Instead, he stood and decided to distract himself with cleaning, a task that would have usually irritated the hell out of him. But he needed something else to think about, and he needed to at least remove the things that were most likely to trigger those painful thoughts.

* * *

England ran. He didn't know where he was going, and he didn't care. He just needed to get as far away as possible. He was vaguely aware that the people he passed were looking at him strangely, but he wasn't bothered by them. He just kept going.

He was just beginning to calm down and realise that he had no idea where he was or how he was going to get home, when he ran into someone. Literally. He stumbled and barely managed to stop himself falling over. "Sorry." He mumbled, looking up at whoever it was, then realising that everything was blurry. Realising that he was crying, he automatically brought up his arm to wipe the tears away, and saw the cake on the sleeve of the uniform that wasn't his. He felt like he was going to throw up.

"England-san?"

"Veh~ England, why are you wearing big brother France's uniform?"

Something soft was pressed into England's hand, but he just stared blankly at the fluorescent green icing that he could just about see through his clouded eyes. Someone nearby coughed, almost irritably, and England was snapped back to reality. He soon realised that the object in his had was a handkerchief, and he hurriedly used it to wipe away the tears. He could now see that he had run into Japan, who looked a little flustered. Italy and Germany were standing either side of Japan, and they were looking at him with worried expressions. Well, no, Japan's expression looked pretty much the same as usual, Italy was just staring at him stupidly, and Germany looked stern, tinged with something that looked like pity. None of them were quite sure what to do. Arthur looked guiltily at the handkerchief, which was now mostly green.

"Keep it." Germany said, his voice almost sympathetic, something that sounded odd when England was so used to hearing the German shouting and generally being irritated. There was a slight tone of disgust too, which was understandable considering the state of the handkerchief.

"Germany-san, perhaps we should take England-san back to my place. We were going there anyway, after all."

"Ja, that is a good idea."

By this point, England was on the verge of collapsing, not really paying attention to what anyone was saying. He was vaguely aware of Germany picking him up, having clearly worked out that he was incapable of moving. Staring blankly at the ground, England tried to think of anything that wasn't America.

* * *

A while later, America had managed to completely clear any evidence of what had happened with England. He had also removed everything from the party the night before, since it had just been a celebration of the anniversary of the day he had broken England's heart. Thinking of it that way was new to him, unfamiliar, but it somehow felt right. As if he had been aware of it all along.

Suddenly, America became aware of something in the room, another presence. He spun around, looking for what it was. He was just wondering if it could be one of England's imaginary friends when he saw the polar bear. It was sitting on his floor, staring up at him. America thought he heard someone talking, but it was too quiet to make out. The polar bear turned to look at something, seeming confused. "Who're you?" It asked thin air in a squeaky voice.

"I'm Canada!" Canada slowly came into focus, looking disgruntled. America was used to his brother suddenly appearing. _Like a ninja,_he thought a little jealously. _If I could do that, I would be way more heroic! And if England hardly knew I was there, it might make him stop hurting... _However, the thought of England forgetting about him made him feel nauseous again. Then he became vaguely aware that Canada was trying to get his attention. He forced a grin onto his face and focused on the Canadian.

"America, can you hear me now?" America nodded. Then something occurred to him.

"Hey, how did you get in?"

"Front door was open, you really need to remember to lock it, anyone could get in."

"Ah." _Bloody England must have left it open... wait, bloody? I'm starting to sound like him!_

"Anyway, I just saw England..." America started paying full attention now. "He was stumbling around outside, covered in cake and wearing Francis' uniform... I tried to get his attention but I don't think he could see me... Any ideas what was wrong with him?"

"No, no idea." America said, trying to hide his guilt. It didn't work.

"America... he was crying, and I've only ever seen him cry over you."

Now America felt really guilty, and his pain must have shown in his expression, because Canada looked sympathetic. "Look, if something happened between you two, don't you think it would be a good idea to go talk to him?" America thought about this for a moment, then brightened up, his guilt forgotten in an instant.

"Yeah! I'll go talk to him and cheer him up, and I'll be all heroic and awesome, and then everyone will see how amazing I am, and then they'll listen to my plans at meetings..." America was putting his jacket and boots on and moving towards the door, having already completely forgotten Canada. He pulled open the door, locked it behind him, then started running, encouraged by the thought of being a hero. _I'll save you, England!_

America managed to run halfway down the street before he bumped into someone. Literally. He would have compared it to bumping into a wall, though, since whoever it was didn't move, making America bounce off a little and stumble. Shuddering involuntarily for a reason he couldn't quite explain, he straightened his glasses so he could see exactly who he had walked into.

"Oh, you are still alive, da?"

_Fuck, Russia. What the hell is he doing here, he's getting in the way of my heroism- Wait, what did he just say? _Russia had his usual creepy grin plastered across his face. America shuddered again.

"Aha, clearly you do not know. Well, you should go ask England what he did then, da?"

America looked confused. Which wasn't unusual for him, but still... Then someone ran up behind Russia, panting.

"Russia, you shouldn't tell America about what England- Oh, uh, hey America..."

"Hey, China." America said through gritted teeth. He was beginning to get irritated now, they were delaying his heroic rescue! And he wanted them to tell him what the hell they were talking about, of course. Russia was still smiling, but China just looked worried.

"China, what exactly has- England- done?" He hadn't expected saying that name to be so difficult. He was supposed to be heroic dammit, not so soft that he couldn't say a name! China was silent for a moment, as if he was thinking, then he sighed.

"I suppose you have a right to know, aru... How should I say this..."

"England replaced your chair with his cursed one, so now you're going to die, da?"

China looked mortified. America just stared at Russia blankly, not comprehending what the Russian had just said. Of course England wouldn't do that to him... He couldn't hate him that much, right? But he had looked guilty earlier, and he had been acting stranger than usual... Could the Brit really do something like that? _Yes. He's tried it before. I can't believe he would try to kill me though... I should go ask him, just to make sure. And then if he didn't, I can carry on with my heroic rescue!_

"Did either of you see England on your way here?"

"Yes, I think Germany and Italy were taking him to Japan's place, but, America, don't do anything too hasty, he-" China realised that America was already running, in the wrong direction.

"America! You need a map, da?"

Russia held out a map that he 'just happened to have' to America, who ran back, took it, looked at it and ran off again, this time almost in the right direction. China sighed, glaring at Russia half-heartedly and hoping America wouldn't do anything too stupid.

* * *

A short chapter again... hopefully the next one will be longer (and be finished quicker) o-o'


	4. Chapter 4

England sat by the river he had often visited as a child, staring at his (quite dashing, if you asked him) reflection. A few small, vivd orange fish disturbed the surface, sending ripples through his reflection.

"Engwand?"

At the sound of his name, England turned to see a familiar child, wearing a white gown, with golden hair that had one wayward, upright strand at the front. Vivid blue eyes and a charming smile.

"America! Come over here!"

Little America rushed towards him, and England caught the child in a tight hug. For some reason, he found himself unable to let go of the boy that clung to him.

"Gerroff me, Engwand!"

America eventually struggled from his grasp, taking a seat next to him and running his chubby little fingers over the surface of the water. England smiled, and resumed watching the water and the fish that swam in circles within it.

"Engwand?"

England continued to stare at the fish.

"Engwand!"

The fish swam away. England frowned.

"Engwand!"

England looked up to see what his charge was shouting about, and found that he was lying on the ground, covered in a red liquid that looked a lot like... _Oh God._ The little face stared at him, eyes filled with pain, mouth open in a scream that England couldn't hear. He tore his eyes away, looked back at the water to find that his reflection was splattered with blood, a manic smile on it's face. He reached out to touch the refflection, disturb it, make it go away, but he found that his own hands were shining, scarlet, soaked with the blood of the child on the grass next to him...

"Fuck!"

England fell out of bed, landing heavily on the ground, tangled in the duvet. He flailed around for a while, trying to escape and find the little boy, little America, until he realised that America wasn't so little any more. He stopped flailing and untangled himself from the duvet to find that he wasn't in his own room. _What the? _Looking up at the wooden ceiling, the opaque walls, and finally the tatami mats on the floor, he realised that he was in Japan's place. _Why am I- oh, oh God. _The memories of the previous day came flooding back, the meeting, his realisation, the bright green cake, the kiss, running away when he remembered what he had done, being carried by Germany... He couldn't recall anything past that point, but he could only assume that someone had washed him, judging by the lack of icing, and they had put him a bed that he now identified as Japan's, wearing... He looked down, and was greeted with some large pink flowers on a dark blue background. He raised his eyebrows at the... What was it called? Jin-something? In any case, it was clearly meant to be worn by a female.

Looking around the room, England realised why he hadn't been put into one of Japan's spare Jin-thingys that were meant for males. There were futon scattered around the room, four in total. One of them looked like it hadn't been slept in. Probably Italy's, since he usually slept in Germany's bed. _Wait, four? Italy, Germany, Japan... who's the fourth- _

England's thoughts were interrupted by a yipping sound accompanied by some tweeting. Japan's little white shiba-inu came streaking into the room, followed by a mass of something yellow and fluffy. The dog jumped onto the duvet, staring at England and making noises that could only be interpreted as cries for help. England grabbed the little dog, trying to swat the yellow things away from it. This only resulted in them being covered in the fluffy little things that England could now see were birds. _Pierre?_

"Kesese! We've got a new target!"

_No, not Pierre then. Fuck._

Prussia came bounding into the room, brandishing a rather large stick, bringing yet more of the little birds with him.

"Charge!"

England found himself covered with even more birds. Japan's dog wriggled from his grip and made a break for it, whimpering. England tried to get the little pests off of him, but they settled on his arms and head and refused to move. He sighed, really not in the mood for Prussia's crap. Not that he usually was, but today he was ready to punch the albino square in his smug little-

"Kesesese, what the fuck are you wearing Eyebrows?"

Prussia received one of England's best glares. The ex-nation ignored it.

"I mean, all the birds look pretty awesome, but the whole cross-dressing thing kinda ruins the effect. And the eyebrows, of course, why exactly are they so humungo-"

England stood abruptly, fists clenched, finally unseating all the little birds.

"Shut up you fucking git, or I'll punch you right in your pathetic excuse for a face!"

He advanced on Prussia, whose face turned from one of smugness to one of mild worry. He turned and streaked out of the room, followed by the birds and England.

"I surrender! The awesome me surrenders! Italy, I need to borrow your flag!"

England finally caught up and pounced, both of them tumbling into the living room trying to exchange blows. Finding himself pulled away from the irritating ex-nation by a pair of strong hands, England twisted to try and get back at Prussia. Prussia backed away, laughing, until his back met a wall.

"Kesese, the awesome me didn't need reinforcements, I could have dealt with Eyebrows by myself, _she_'s pathetic!"

Finally calming down, England stopped struggling and just glared again. The hands released him, and he turned to see that it was Germany who had stopped him. Japan and Italy were seated at the kotatsu table, looking worried in one case and grinning stupidly in the other. Germany just looked annoyed. Japan coughed nervously.

"Uhh... England-san, what exactly happened yesterday? I mean, if you feel like telling us..."

When England finished his story (minus certain parts, obviously), three of the four nations seated around the table stared at him in awkward silence. Italy, of course, had a happy but confused expression.

"Veh~ England, you're good at telling stories, but it's not nice to kill America, even if it is a story..."

England momentarily eyed 'Herr Stick', who was on the table next to Germany. He wondered how Germany would react if he hit Italy over the head with it. Perhaps he could knock Prussia out with it too, just for good measure.

"Italy, you dummkopf, it wasn't a story..."

Italy just stared blankly at Germany, still smiling. Well, looked in that general direction. Could he even see with his eyes closed all the time? Germany just sighed, clearly realising that there was no point trying to explain. It was probably for the best, considering the kind of reaction Italy might have when he realised that America was actually- England let out a small noise, a combination of a gasp and a sob. It hadn't occurred to him that America was probably already gone. Japan patted his shoulder in a comforting way, and England closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against the table and letting the tears flow freely again. He stayed like that for a while, long after the tears had run out and the pain in his chest had subsided somewhat, although the pain in his leg and both of his arms from his fight with Prussia hadn't subsided. People were talking, but he couldn't listen to them. He felt empty, in disbelief of what he had done.

Finally, he managed to look up, and realised that everyone but Japan had left the room. Japan grimaced, his big brown eyes sad, and England realised how what he had done would affect everyone else. America had been one of Japan's best friends. Canada's brother. Russia's frenemy. Representative of a ridiculous amount of people. England's... He had been a lot of things to England. Former charge, enemy, friend... and, in the end, potential lover. England detached himself from the last one. It didn't matter now. There was no fixing what he had done.

"Japan... England." Germany had returned, clutching a mobile phone. He looked somewhat sad too, as sad as someone like Germany could look. "Nobody has seen America since yesterday. China said he and Russia saw him, apparently he was coming to find England..." Germany lapsed into silence. Japan stood and walked out of the room. Germany glared at England, then followed. England knew that they all hated him right now. He couldn't blame them.

Prussia walked in a while later, carrying a laptop. He took a look at England, who was now dressed in a black shirt and a pair of trousers of unknown origin that Germany had thrown in.

"Appropriate." he muttered, setting the laptop down next to England and occupying the space that Japan had left. England looked at him questioningly, wondering why he wasn't staying away. Prussia shrugged.

"We've all killed before. Some of us more than others... And anyway, America was more important to the others than he was to me." England nodded. He thought that Prussia was being a little insensitive, but it was probably the best that could be expected of him. At least he wasn't running around with his birds any more. And, if England was honest, he was grateful for the company. And the lack of birds.

They sat there for a while, not speaking, the silence magnifying the sound of Prussia tapping at the keyboard. The noise began to grate on England's nerves.

"What are you doing?"

Prussia looked up, a little stunned as if he had forgotten England's presence. "Oh, uhh, Japan wanted me to write something on my awesome blog. You know, about America."

England raised an eyebrow, questioning Japan's sanity. Had Japan even seen the kind of things in Prussia's blog before? Prussia glared.

"I'm not writing anything bad, arschloch. Gott, why does everyone always assume the awesome me is being a dick?"

The laptop was turned so England could see what Prussia was writing. There was a photograph of America at the beach, one that was obviously recycled from a previous post. The text underneath said 'R.I.P Alfred F. Jones, a.k.a The United States of America. He was a hero, and will be missed by everyone. Especially the awesome me.'

England stared up at Prussia blankly for a moment.

"What?"

"You know, I think this is exactly the kind of thing... _he_ would have wanted."

"Oh. Well, that's good. As long as Japan's happy with it..."

Once again, England raised an eyebrow, this time at Prussia's worried expression.

"Why are you so worried about what Japan thinks?"

"I'm not, I'm just respecting the deceased! ...or something!" Prussia tried his best to look offended. It didn't really work.

A few minutes after Prussia had posted his tribute, both his and England's mobiles received texts. There was to be a meeting in Japan as soon as possible.

"Why the fuck are they coming here?"

"Probably because four nations are already here?"

"Oh, right... wait, four?"

"Well, you're not really a-"

"Shut up Eyebrows."

England chuckled, but there was a somewhat nervous undertone to it. He could imagine it now, all those nations staring at him accusingly. It would take a long time for them to forgive him. He had killed America... The realisation hit him again, but he didn't break down this time. He just felt a little nauseous. Germany chose that moment to appear, followed by a very pale-looking Italy who, upon spotting England, gave him an angry, accusing glare that quickly broke into sadness. _Germany finally explained it to him then... _

"You heard about the meeting?" Germany seemed to be directing the question towards his brother, but England nodded too anyway. "Get ready and meet me by the front door in five minutes."

* * *

The meeting was being held close enough that they could walk there. Although it wasn't a long journey, it seemed to drag on for a lifetime because of the awkward silence. Even Italy was perfectly silent. England noticed that Prussia stuck to Japan's side, but decided it was best not to comment. The thought of that kind of thing made his chest ache anyway, and gave him flashbacks that he would rather not have.

When they finally, _finally _reached the location of the meeting, they were unsurprised to find that they were the first ones there. Japan took a seat at the large round table, and Prussia sat next to him. Germany sat on Japan's other side, with Italy next to him. England decided to sit next to Prussia, because the albino seemed to hate him the least, and sitting next to Italy with that expression was sure to make him feel more guilty than he did already.

Slowly, nations began to trickle into the room, completely silent apart from a few sobs that England didn't want to look for the owners of. He stared at the table, intent on observing a knot in the wood. The seat on the other side of him remained empty.

"England, I brought you a present. You should thank me, da?"

England looked up at Russia, suppressing a shudder. The tall nation smiled down at him and pointed at what was beside him. A chair.

"Why the bloody hell would I want a- oh." He could see the fault lines and creepy aura again. It took all his power to not punch the chair, or perhaps sit in it himself. He knew that the curse wouldn't work soon enough anyway... A lump appeared in his throat, and if he had any tears left they probably would have escaped. As it was, he was just angry.

"Russia."

"Da?"

"Do me a favour?"

"Da?"

"Sit in the chair."

"Fine, but you owe me, da?"

Russia stared at him as he nodded, still smiling that childish, creepy little grin. He pulled the chair a little way away from all the nations at the table and sat on it, maintaining the smile.

"Aah, comfy..."

The chair gave a harrowing screech and shattered, scattering splinters all over the carpet. Russia frowned, looking down at the splinters, as if he couldn't comprehend what had just happened. Clearly he still hadn't worked out that he was evil. The tall nation shrugged, stepping over the splinters and sitting next to England, smiling again. China sat next to him, giving England a small grimace.

Every seat bar two was filled now, but the room remained silent. Russia's closeness caused England to shudder, and Prussia looked like he was considering moving. Everyone was staring at the empty seats, wondering why there was more than one. ("Kumachintzy, why do they keep staring at me?")

Almost everyone jumped when a tinny version of the German national anthem began to play. Germany muttered something under his breath and pulled out his phone, flipping it open and pressing it to his ear.

"Guten tag."

…

"Nein, ich bin am der- Was?"

…

"Scheisse, wirklich?"

Germany closed the phone and looked up, an expression of shock plastered across his face.

"Italy, you've got a car near here, right?"

"Y-yes?"

"Gut. Japan, Bruder, England. We need to go to Russia."

* * *

Gaah, so many things I don't like about this chapter, but if I try to fix them all I'll end up rewriting it again and again and I'll never finish it OTL

I think the German is right... If it isn't, feel free to correct me .


End file.
